Not Going To Happen, Stiles
by Quillcox
Summary: Stiles wants Derek to have sex with him. Derek is resistant. Stiles is determined to break that down. For TimeIsArbitrary. Betaed by PrimeLaughter.


"Stiles, where are we going?" It was nearly ten o'clock on a Saturday night, and Stiles was dragging Derek, his totally awesome Alpha werewolf boyfriend, up the stairs in his house.

"I'll give you three guesses," Stiles replied.

"Your bedroom," Derek stated as they reached the top of the stairs.

"See? You didn't even need the three guesses!" Stiles announced, his voice filled with jubilation.

"Stiles, I'm not going to fuck you. You're underage, and your father is the sheriff. I could get thrown in jail if someone finds out."

"I don't give a shit," Stiles declared, speeding into his bedroom, pulling his boyfriend behind him.

"Stiles, you're not going to be able to seduce me into sex." Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"I accept that challenge," he replied.

"What are you planning on do -" he was abruptly cut off when Stiles spun around and pressed his lips against Derek's, using every trick he knew to make it as arousing as possible. "Fuck, Stiles," Derek whispered. The human smirked through the kiss, knowing full well that Derek was starting to change his mind. With that thought in his head, he took one of his hands and palmed Derek's crotch, his erection extremely obvious through his pants. "Huh - Stiles!" The werewolf gasped.

"Yes?" the smug teen asked. Derek hesitated for a moment.

"Fuck this," he growled. He picked Stiles up and (gently) tossed him onto the bed. "You are _so_ asking for it." Stiles smiled and removed Derek's shirt, tossing it to the floor. Derek smirked and flashed his claws out, getting the younger's shirt off in an instant.

"Hey! I liked that shirt," Stiles complained.

"You'll live," Derek replied.

"I know," the teenager replied. "I just liked that shirt."

"I'll buy you a new one. Now get naked!" the Alpha all but snarled. Stiles reacted faster than he has for anything before (probably), his fingers racing to get the zipper on his jeans down. He finally managed to get his pants off, leaving him in boxers. While Stiles was so miserably failing at getting his pants off, Derek had gotten his off and grabbed the bottle of lube from Stiles' bedside table. "How long have you been plotting this, Stiles?"

"Not long," he replied, still struggling to remove his boxers.

"Stiles…" Derek let the sentence trail off. Stiles looked up, boxers still not off.

"Seriously! I started this…like…this morning!" Derek rolled his eyes and flashed his claws out again. Both pairs of boxers fell to the floor. Stiles looked at Derek, slightly annoyed, slightly overtaken with lust.

"I'll buy you a new pair of those, as well. Now turn!" Stiles quickly did a 180˚ and presented his back to Derek. The werewolf poured some of the lube onto his fingers, making sure to coat them thoroughly. "Ready?" he asked, not wanting to hurt Stiles any more than necessary. Stiles nodded, trying to relax, even though he knew full well it was going to hurt, no matter what. Derek inserted a finger into Stiles, trying to be gentle to the virgin, human ass.

"Uhhhhh," Stiles moaned, part pain and part ecstasy. His back arched into the touch as Derek moved his finger about, stretching his boyfriend. He quickly added a second finger, loving the warmth that surrounded him. He added a third finger, and Stiles bucked towards Derek, clearly wanting to get as much of the touch as possible.

"Derek…please…need more…" Stiles moaned.

"If you're sure," Derek answered, reluctance clear in his voice. He removed his fingers, and Stiles whined at the loss. However, the emptiness was quickly replaced with something bigger.

"Please, Derek," Stiles said. "Give it to me,"

"Well, if you insist." Derek replied. He pushed forward, inserting himself into Stiles. Very slowly.

"Derek, more!" Stiles begged. With one hard thrust, he fully entered Stiles. "Ah-ah-ah…" Stiles whimpered, the pain quick and sudden.

"Shh, Stiles. It'll fade soon," Derek consoled. Stiles nodded, feeling the burn fade away.

"Move," he whispered.

"You sure?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded.

"Positive."

"Well, if you're sure…" He let his voice trail off and then he pulled out, almost all the way, and then rammed back in.

"Ahh!" Stiles screamed, loving the feeling of Derek up his ass. Derek continued pounding into the ass in front of him, managing to hit that special spot every once in a while. Whenever he did, Stiles arched up with a raw scream that, for whatever reason, never caused anyone else to wonder what the hell was going on in the Stilinski household.

"Fuck, Stiles!" Derek grunted. "So - fucking - tight!" Soon, he began to move slower, and Stiles started to feel heat pooling in his stomach.

"Derek - I'm gonna - come!" Stiles moaned.

"Then come for me, Stiles," Derek invited. Stiles screamed as his muscles contracted, releasing onto the sheets. Feeling Stiles' walls clench around himself, the additional heat and pressure became too much. Derek groaned as he came, filling Stiles to the brim (and then some). Cum leaked out, hitting the sheets underneath.

"Thank you, Derek," Stiles mumbled, falling asleep.

"Of course, Stiles," Derek replied.

* * *

Sheriff Stilinski hummed as he pulled his cruiser into the driveway sometime around midnight. He unlocked the front door and entered, making a beeline for the kitchen. Stiles clearly wasn't awake, so it's not like he can stop him from eating everything he shouldn't. After all, he's the sheriff, _and_ he knows where Stiles hides the bacon. He continued humming as he made himself a good, proper breakfast. Good thing Stiles is a heavy sleeper. He finished cooking and ate everything, doing his dishes and then running the dishwasher. Funny that Stiles didn't run that earlier…he's normally excellent at doing things like that. He walked upstairs towards his bedroom, but stopped in the hallway. What the hell is that smell? He crinkled his nose, not liking it at all. Was Stiles doing some kind of experiment? He placed his hand on his son's doorknob and turned it quietly. He poked his head in, to find that the smell was much stronger. He had probably jerked himself off before falling asleep and didn't bother to clean it up.

He was just about to withdraw when he heard a snore that _definitely_ didn't belong to Stiles. He opened the door all the way to see two people on the bed. He flipped the light on and did a double take.

Derek. Fucking. Hale. Why the hell was Derek Hale on (IN) his son's bed? With his arm wrapped around him? _And_ the room smelled heavily of sex.

"I'm going to murder him in the morning," the sheriff muttered. He closed the door and went into his own bedroom. Unbeknownst to him, Derek had been awake since the moment the sheriff pulled in. He got up, scribbled a quick note to Stiles, and vanished out the window to the loft.

* * *

"Uhh…" Stiles groaned. He was fucking _sore_! There was no way he'd be sitting for ages. He sat up as much as he could, and just managed to notice a piece of paper fluttering to the ground. He picked it up and read it. "Shit," he muttered. He got up (slowly, mind you) and pulled some clothes on, heading downstairs to hopefully prevent his father from blowing up. "Dad?" he asked, turning into the kitchen.

"Yes?" Sheriff Stilinski responded, sharpening a knife. Stiles gulped.

"About…erm…what you saw last night…" he trailed off as his father looked up.

"Yes?"

"You wanna…uh…forget about it and have Derek over for lunch?"

"Nope. I need to have a talk with him," the sheriff responded.

"Over lunch?" Stiles tried, his voice weak.

"I suppose…" the sheriff acquiesced. "But I'll need my gun when I greet him."

* * *

**AN****: Betaed by PrimeLaughter. My Christmas present for TimeIsArbitrary. I do hope you enjoyed this. However, if you didn't, just watch out for flying anvils and holy fire.**

**Yes, I do mean holy ****_fire_****, for those of you who think you read a typo.**

**Don't ask. It'll make no sense.**

**But I do hope you enjoyed!**

**Merry Christmas, all.**


End file.
